The Faerie Queene (84 page)

Who as he still decayd, so he encreased more.

22
The heauy burden of whose dreadfull might

When as the Carle no longer could sustaine,

His heart gan faint, and streight he tooke his flight

Toward the Castle, where if need constraine,

His hope of refuge vsed to remaine.

Whom
Calidore
perceiuing fast to flie,

He him pursu'd and chaced through the plaine,

That he for dread of death gan loude to crie

Vnto the ward, to open to him hastilie.

23
They from the wall him seeing so aghast,

The gate soone opened to receiue him in,

But
Calidore
did follow him so fast,

That euen in the Porch he him did win,

And cleft his head asunder to his chin.

The carcasse tumbling downe within the dore,

Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of sin,

That it could not be shut, whilest
Calidore

Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the flore.

24
With that the rest, the which the Castle kept,

About him flockt, and hard at him did lay;

But he them all from him full lightly swept,

As doth a Steare, in heat of sommers day,

With his long taile the bryzes brush away.

Thence passing forth, into the hall he came,

Where of the Lady selfe in sad dismay

He was ymett, who with vncomely shame

Gan him salute, and fowle vpbrayd with faulty blame.

25
False traytor Knight, (sayd she) no Knight at all,

But scorne of armes that hast with guilty hand

Murdred my men, and slaine my Seneschall;

Now comest thou to rob my house vnmand,

And spoile my selfe, that can not thee withstand?

Yet doubt thou not, but that some better Knight

Then thou, that shall thy treason vnderstand,

Will it auenge, and pay thee with thy right:

And if none do, yet shame shal thee with shame requight.

26
Much was the Knight abashed at that word;

Yet answerd thus; Not vnto me the shame,

But to the shamefull doer it afford.

Bloud is no blemish; for it is no blame

To punish those, that doe deserue the same;

But they that breake bands of ciuilitie,

And wicked customes make, those doe defame

Both noble armes and gentle curtesie.

No greater shame to man then inhnmanitie.

27
Then doe your selfe, for dread of shame, forgoe

This euill manner, which ye here maintaine,

And doe in stead thereof mild curt'sie showe

To all, that passe. That shall you glory gaine

More then his loue, which thus ye seeke t'obtaine.

Wherewith all full of wrath, she thus replyde;

Vile recreant, know that I doe much disdaine

Thy courteous lore, that doest my loue deride,

Who scornes thy ydle scoffe, and bids thee be defyde.

28
To take defiaunce at a Ladies word

(Quoth he) I hold it no indignity;

But were he here, that would it with his sword

Abett, perhaps he mote it deare aby.

Cowherd (quoth she) were not, that thou wouldst fly,

Ere he doe come, he should be soone in place.

If I doe so, (sayd he) then liberty

I leaue to you, for aye me to disgrace

With all those shames, that erst ye spake me to deface.

29
With that a Dwarfe she cald to her in hast,

And taking from her hand a ring of gould,

A priuy token, which betweene them past,

Bad him to flie with all the speed he could,

To
Cruder,
and desire him that he would

Vouchsafe to reskue her against a Knight,

Who through strong powre had now her self in hould,

Hauing late slaine her Seneschall in fight,

And all her people murdred with outragious might

30
The Dwarfe his way did hast, and went all night;

But
Calidore
did with her there abyde

The comming of that so much threatned Knight,

Where that discourteous Dame with scornfull pryde,

And fowle entreaty him indignifyde,

That yron heart it hardly could sustaine:

Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guyde,

Did well endure her womanish disdaine,

And did him selfe from fraile impatience refraine.

31
The morrow next, before the lampe of light,

Aboue the earth vpreard his flaming head,

The Dwarfe, which bore that message to her knight,

Brought aunswere backe, that ere he tasted bread,

He would her succour, and aliue or dead

Her foe deliuer vp into her hand:

Therefore he wild her doe away all dread;

And that of him she mote assured stand,

He sent to her his basenet, as a faithfull band.

32
Thereof full blyth the Lady streight became,

And gan t'augment her bitternesse much more:

Yet no whit more appalled for the same,

Ne ought dismayed was Sir
Calidore,

But rather did more chearefull seeme therefore.

And hauing soone his armes about him dight,

Did issue forth, to meete his foe afore;

Where long he stayed not, when as a Knight

He spide come pricking on with al his powre and might.

33
Well weend he streight, that he should be the same,

Which tooke in hand her quarrell to maintaine;

Ne stayd to aske if it were he by name,

But coucht his speare, and ran at him amaine.

They bene ymett in middest of the plaine,

With so fell fury, and dispiteous forse,

That neither could the others stroke sustaine,

But rudely rowld to ground both man and horse,

Neither of other taking pitty nor remorse.

34
But
Calidore
vprose againe full light,

Whiles yet his foe lay fast in sencelesse sound,

Yet would he not him hurt, although he might:

For shame he weend a sleeping wight to wound.

But when
Briana
saw that drery stound,

There where she stood vppon the Castle wall,

She deem'd him sure to haue bene dead on ground,

And made such piteous mourning therewithall,

That from the battlements she ready seem'd to fall.

35
Nathlesse at length him selfe he did vpreare

In. lustlesse wise, as if against his will,

Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were,

And gan to stretch his limbs; which feeling ill

Of his late fall, a while he rested still:

But when he saw his foe before in vew,

He shooke off luskishnesse, and courage chill

Kindling a fresh, gan battell to renew,

To proue if better foote then horsebacke would ensew.

36
There then began a fearefull cruell fray

Betwixt them two, for maystery of might.

For both were wondrous practicke in that play,

And passing well expert in single fight,

And both inflam'd with furious despight:

Which as it still encreast, so still increast

Their cruell strokes and terrible affright;

Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast,

Ne once to breath a while their angers tempest ceast

37
Thus long they trac'd and trauerst to and fro,

And tryde all waies, how each mote entrance make

Into the life of his malignant foe;

They hew'd their helmes, and plates asunder brake,

As they had potshares bene; for nought mote slake

Their greedy vengeaunces, but goary blood,

That at the last like to a purple lake

Of bloudy gore congeal'd about them stood,

Which from their riuen sides forth gushed like a flood.

38
At length it chaunst, that both their hands on hie,

At once did heaue, with all their powre and might,

Thinking the vtmost of their force to trie,

And proue the finall fortune of the fight:

But
Calidore,
that was more quicke of sight,

And nimbler handed, then his enemie,

Preuented him before his stroke could light,

And on the helmet smote him formerlie,

That made him stoupe to ground with meeke humilitie.

39
And ere he could recouer foot againe,

He following that faire aduantage fast,

His stroke redoubled with such might and maine,

That him vpon the ground he groueling cast;

And leaping to him light, would haue vnlast

His Helme, to make vnto his vengeance way.

Who seeing, in what daunger he was plast,

Cryde out, Ah mercie Sir, doe me not slay,

But saue my life, which lot before your foot doth lay.

40
With that his mortall hand a while he stayd,

And hauing somewhat calm'd his wrathfull heat

With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd;

And is the boast of that proud Ladies threat,

That menaced me from the field to beat,

Now brought to this? By this now may ye learne,

Strangers no more so rudely to intreat,

But put away proud looke, and vsage sterne,

The which shal nought to you but foule dishonor yearne.

41
For nothing is more blamefull to a knight,

That court'sie doth as well as armes professe,

How euer strong and fortunate in fight,

Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse.

In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse,

Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew:

All flesh is frayle, and full of ficklenesse,

Subiect to fortunes chance, still chaunging new;

What haps to day to me, to morrow may to you.

42
Who will not mercie vnto others shew,

How can he mercy euer hope to haue?

To pay each with his owne is right and dew.

Yet since ye mercie now doe need to craue,

I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to saue;

With these conditions, which I will propound:

First, that ye better shall your selfe behaue

Vnto all errant knights, whereso on ground;

Next that ye Ladies ayde in euery stead and stound.

43
The wretched man, that all this while did dwell

In dread of death, his heasts did gladly heare,

And promist to performe his precept well,

And whatsoeuer else he would requere.

So suffring him to rise, he made him sweare

By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon,

To take
Briana
for his louing fere,

Withouten dowre or composition;

But to release his former foule condition.

44
All which accepting, and with faithfull oth

Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay,

He vp arose, how euer liefe or loth,

And swore to him true fealtie for aye.

Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay

The sad
Briana,
which all this beheld:

Who comming forth yet full of late affray,

Sir
Calidore
vpcheard, and to her teld

All this accord, to which he
Crudor
had compeld.

45
Whereof she now more glad, then sory earst,

All ouercome with infinite affect,

For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst

Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,

Before his feet her selfe she did proiect,

And him adoring as her liues deare Lord,

With all due thankes, and dutifull respect,

Her selfe acknowledg'd bound for that accord,

By which he had to her both life and loue restord.

46
So all returning to the Castle glad,

Most ioyfully she them did entertaine,

Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,

To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine,

By all the meanes she mote it best explaine:

And after all, vnto Sir
Calidore

She freely gaue that Castle for his paine,

And her selfe bound to him for euermore;

So wondrously now chaung'd, from that she was afore.

47
But
Calidore
himselfe would not retaine

Nor land nor fee, for hyre of his good deede,

But gaue them straight vnto that Squire againe,

Whom from her Seneschall he lately freed,

And to his damzell as their rightfull meed,

For recompence of all their former wrong:

There he remaind with them right well agreed,

Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong,

And then to his first quest he passed forth along.

Calidore sees young Tristram slay
   A proud discourteous knight,
He makes him Squire, and of him homes
   his state and present plight.

1
What vertue is so fitting for a knight,

Or for a Ladie, whom a knight should loue,

As Curtesie, to beare themselues aright

To all of each degree, as doth behoue?

For whether they be placed high aboue,

Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know

Their good, that none them rightly may reproue

Of rudenesse, for not yeelding what they owe:

Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.

2
Thereto great helpe dame Nature selfe doth lend:

For some so goodly gracious are by kind,

That euery action doth them much commend,

And in the eyes of men great liking find;

Which others, that haue greater skill in mind,

Though they enforce themselues, cannot attaine.

For euerie thing, to which one is indin'd,

Doth best become, and greatest grace doth gaine:

Yet praise likewise deserue good thewes, enforst with paine.

3
That well in courteous
Calidore
appeares,

Whose euery act and deed, that he did say,

Was like enchantment, that through both the eyes,

And both the eares did steale the hart away.

He now againe is on his former way,

To follow his first quest, when as he spyde

A tall young man from thence not farre away,

Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde,

Against an armed knight, that did on horsebacke ryde.

4
And them beside a Ladie faire he saw,

Standing alone on foot, in foule array:

To whom himselfe he hastily did draw,

To weet the cause of so vncomely fray,

And to depart them, if so be he may.

But ere he came in place, that youth had kild

That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;

Which when he saw, his hart was inly child

With great amazement, & his thought with wonder fild.

5
Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee

A goodly youth of amiable grace,

Yet but a slender slip, that scarse did see

Yet seuenteene yeares, but tall and faire of face

That sure he deem'd him borne of noble race.

All in a woodmans iacket he was clad

Of Lincolne greene, belayd with siluer lace;

And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,

And by his side his hunters home he hanging had.

6
Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,

Pinckt vpon gold, and paled part per part,

As then the guize was for each gentle swayne;

In his right hand he held a trembling dart,

Whose fellow he before had sent apart;

And in his left he held a sharpe borespeare,

With which he wont to launch the saluage hart

Of many a Lyon, and of many a Beare

That first vnto his hand in chase did happen neare.

7
Whom
Calidore
a while well hauing vewed,

At length bespake; what meanes this, gentle swaine?

Why hath thy hand too bold it selfe embrewed

In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine,

By thee no knight; which armes impugneth plaine?

Certes (said he) loth were I to haue broken

The law of armes; yet breake it should againe,

Rather then let my selfe of wight be stroken,

So long as these two armes were able to be wroken.

8
For not I him as this his Ladie here

May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong,

Ne surely thus vnarm'd I likely were;

But he me first, through pride and puissance strong

Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth long.

Perdie great blame, (then said Sir
Calidore)

For armed knight a wight vnarm'd to wrong.

But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore

Betwixt you two began this strife and sterne vprore.

9
That shall I sooth (said he) to you declare.

I whose vnryper yeares are yet vnfit

For thing of weight, or worke of greater care,

Doe spend my dayes, and bend my carelesse wit

To saluage chace, where I thereon may hit

In all this forrest, and wyld wooddie raine:

Where, as this day I was enraunging it,

I chaunst to meete this knight, who there lyes slaine,

Together with his Ladie, passing on the plaine.

10
The knight, as ye did see, on horsebacke was,

And this his Ladie, (that him ill became,)

On her faire feet by his horse side did pas

Through thicke and thin, vnfit for any Dame.

Yet not content, more to increase his shame,

When so she lagged, as she needs mote so,

He with his speare, that was to him great blame,

Would thumpe her forward, and inforce to goe,

Weeping to him in vaine, and making piteous woe.

11
Which when I saw, as they me passed by,

Much was I moued in indignant mind,

And gan to blame him for such cruelty

Towards a Ladie, whom with vsage kind

He rather should haue taken vp behind.

Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdaine,

Tooke in foule scorne, that I such fault did find,

And me in lieu thereof reuil'd againe,

Threatning to chastize me, as doth t'a chyld pertaine.

12
Which I no lesse disdayning, backe returned

His scornefull taunts vnto his teeth againe,

That he streight way with haughtie choler burned,

And with his speare strooke me one stroke or twaine;

Which I enforst to beare though to my paine,

Cast to requite, and with a slender dart,

Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in vaine,

Strooke him, as seemeth, vnderneath the hart,

That through the wound his spirit shortly did depart.

13
Much did Sir
Calidore
admyre his speach

Tempred so well, but more admyr'd the stroke

That through the mayles had made so strong a breach

Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke

His wrath on him, that first occasion broke.

Yet rested not, but further gan inquire

Of that same Ladie, whether what he spoke,

Were soothly so, and that th'vnrighteous ire

Of her owne knight, had giuen him his owne due hire.

14
Of all which, when as she could nought deny,

But cleard that stripling of th'imputed blame,

Sayd then Sir
Calidore;
neither will I

Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite clame:

For what he spake, for you he spake it, Dame,

And what he did, he did him selfe to saue:

Against bodi which that knight wrought knightlesse shame.

For knights and all men this by nature haue,

Towards all womenkind them kindly to behaue.

15
But sith that he is gone irreuocable,

Please it you Ladie, to vs to aread,

What cause could make him so dishonourable,

To driue you so on foot vnfit to tread,

And lackey by him, gainst all womanhead?

Certes Sir knight (sayd she) full loth I were

To rayse a lyuing blame against the dead:

But since it me concernes, my selfe to clere,

I will the truth discouer, as it chaunst whylere.

16
This day, as he and I together roade

Vpon our way, to which we weren bent,

We chaunst to come foreby a couert glade

Within a wood, whereas a Ladie gent

Sate with a knight in ioyous iolliment,

Of their franke loues, free from all gealous spyes:

Faire was the Ladie sure, that mote content

An hart, not carried with too curious eyes,

And vnto him did shew all louely courtesyes.

17
Whom when my knight did see so louely faire,

He inly gan her louer to enuy,

And wish, that he part of his spoyle might share.

Whereto when as my presence he did spy

To be a let, he bad me by and by

For to alight: but when as I was loth,

My loues owne par t to leaue so suddenly,

He with strong hand down from his steed me throw'th,

And with presumpteous powre against that knight streight

[go'th.

18
Vnarm'd all was the knight, as then more meete

For Ladies seruice, and for loues delight,

Then fearing any foeman there to meete:

Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him dight

Himselfe to yeeld his loue, or else to fight.

Whereat the other starting vp dismayd,

Yet boldly answer'd, as he rightly might;

To leaue his loue he should be ill apayd,

In which he had good right gaynst all, that it gainesayd.

19
Yet since he was not presently in plight

Her to defend, or his to iustifie,

He him requested, as he was a knight,

To lend him day his better right to trie,

Or stay till he his armes, which were thereby,

Might lightly fetch. But he was fierce and whot,

Ne time would giue, nor any termes aby,

But at him flew, and with his speare him smot;

From which to thinke to saue himselfe, it booted not.

20
Meanewhile his Ladie, which this outrage saw,

Whilest they together for the quarrey stroue,

Into the couert did her selfe withdraw,

And closely hid her selfe within the groue.

My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daunger droue

And left sore wounded: but when her he mist,

He woxe halfe mad, and in that rage gan roue

And range through all the wood, where so he wist

She hidden was, and sought her so long, as him list

21
But when as her he by no meanes could find,

After long search and chauff, he turned backe

Vnto the place, where me he left behind:

There gan he me to curse and ban, for lacke

Of that faire bootie, and with bitter wracke

To wreake on me the guilt of his owne wrong.

Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe,

Stroue to appease him, and perswaded long:

But still his passion grew more violent and strong.

22
Then as it were t'auenge his wrath on mee,

When forward we should fare, he flat refused

To take me vp (as this young man did see)

Vpon his steed, for no iust cause accused,

But forst to trot on foot, and foule misused,

Pounching me with the butt end of his speare,

In vaine complayning, to be so abused.

For he regarded neither playnt nor teare,

But more enforst my paine, the more my plaints to heare.

23
So passed we, till this young man vs met,

And being moou'd with pittie of my plight,

Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret:

Whereof befell, what now is in your sight.

Now sure (then said Sir
Calidore)
and right

Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault:

Who euer thinkes through confidence of might,

Or through support of count'nance proud and hault

To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne assault

24
Then turning backe vnto that gentle boy,

Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit;

Seeing his face so louely sterne and coy,

And hearing th'answeres of his pregnant wit,

He praysd it much, and much admyred it;

That sure he weend him borne of noble blood,

With whom those graces did so goodly fit:

And when he long had him beholding stood,

He burst into these words, as to him seemed good.

25
Faire gentle swayne, and yet as stout as fayre,

That in these woods amongst the Nymphs dost wonne,

Which daily may to thy sweete lookes repayre,

As they are wont vnto
Latonaes
sonne,

After his chace on woodie
Cynthus
donne:

Well may I certes such an one thee read,

As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne,

Or surely borne of some Heroicke sead,

That in thy face appeares and gratious goodly head.

26
But should it not displease thee it to tell;

(Vnlesse thou in these woods thy selfe conceale,

For loue amongst the woodie Gods to dwell;)

I would thy selfe require thee to reueale,

For deare affection and vnfayned zeale,

Which to thy noble personage I beare,

And wish thee grow in worship and great weale.

For since the day that armes I first did reare,

I neuer saw in any greater hope appeare.

27
To whom then thus the noble youth; may be

Sir knight, that by discouering my estate,

Harme may arise vnweeting vnto me;

Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed late,

To you I will not feare it to relate.

Then wote ye that I am a Briton borne,

Sonne of a King, how euer thorough fate

Or fortune I my countrie haue forlorne,

And lost the crowne, which should my head by right adorne.

28
And
Tristram
is my name, the onely heire

Of good king
Meliogras
which did rayne

In Cornewale, till that he through liues despeire

Vntimely dyde, before I did attaine

Ripe yeares of reason, my right to maintaine.

After whose death, his brother seeing mee

An infant, weake a kingdome to sustaine,

Vpon him tooke the roiall high degree,

And sent me, where him list, instructed for to bee.

29
The widow Queene my mother, which then bight